A Dead Girl In The Morgue
by amazingkace
Summary: Molly Hooper always thought Sherlock Holmes would never reciprocate her affections, but he had something else in mind. (A series of Sherlock BBC one-shots based on Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes - SHERLOLLY)
1. In the Beginning

Molly Hooper was a quiet sort of person; words weren't her strong subject when it came to saying them aloud. Especially in the case of a mysterious, handsome man walking into her morgue.

"Future Dr. Hooper, I presume?" He asked, looking over her quickly.

She was pretty, but slightly mousy. Quiet and reserved; enjoyed a good book, a quiet movie, and petting her cat on rainy days. Smiled often, but lacked a large amount of self-confidence that she never failed to get the best of her. He found himself standing there a moment, smiling to himself.

Suddenly, he realized she'd answered him. He shook his head thoroughly, desperately trying to delete the "feelings" from his system.

"Sorry, could you repeat that?"

She stopped mid-sentence, hunched over a young girl'a lifeless form. She twisted her hair nervously.

"Er, sure. Molly Hooper, yes. You must be Sherlock. Everyone...talks...about you. T-trying to become a professional-oh, what was it?-consulting...d-detective. Can I, Er, help y-you with anything?" She turned back to her work, facing blushing profusely. Her brown eyes glimmered with embarrassment at her stutters.

He chuckled slightly. "Yes; Sherlock. Nice to be of your acquaintance." He held our his hand for her to shake, but dropped it when she didn't notice. He frowned slightly at the over-looked gesture, and started conversation back up again.

"I'm here to see the body of Cartel Casper. Aged sixteen, dead by asphyxiation." She flipped through a stack of paperwork, and handed him a folder marked: 'Casper, C.'

Their fingertips brushed, and he felt grounded to the floor. She, however, made no notice. She returned to her work, bending over the body of a middle-aged man.

"Poor thing," she murmured, "you look like you were so nice..."


	2. Closets

His eyes rolled over her small frame in the cool dark. This wasn't supposed to happen; no, not at all. John was supposed to be helping him today, but he could feel Molly Hooper's cool breath against his neck. It was...interesting, to say the least. The feel of her chest heaving against his own in the darkness. Maybe closets did have an appeal on cases after all...

Molly, however, was mortified. She could practically see him scowling at their position in the dark. Her breathing was hard and unstable, and she could feel that his was hinting at the same pace. But as to why, she had no clue. She slowly, cautiously, reached for his wrist. When he retracted it quickly, she smirked.

Even Sherlock Holmes possessed feelings, deep down, after all. And now, he was scared by the revelation that she was using his own tactics against him. His pulse was staccato, differentiating in beats. He could feel how his pupils dilated, searching out her eyes.

Finally, after all a stress-filled moment of silence -although there was a criminal in the quiet house- Sherlock Holmes had had enough. With a low-pitched growl, he trapped Molly Hooper's lips with his own, causing the poor girl to squeak in surprise. After a moment however, she responded with as much passion as he gave.

By the time Lestrade had come, the only remaining sign Holmes had been there was a small note on the inside of the closet door.

"Gone home, tell St. Bart's Dr. Hooper will be out for a few," the word 'days' had been scratched out "months -SH"


	3. The Voices of Angels

Sherlock glared openly at the growing crowd. Why had John forced him to come to this "social event"? Then again, when wasn't John inviting him along anymore? Ever since John had started 'casually' dating Nurse Mary Morstan of St. Bart's, he dragged the poor detective along for 'moral support'.

Now, here he was in the middle of a dimly-lit stage. At least 20 people were sitting on the bar stools, 10 more piling in to grab a drink. His gaze rolled over to John once more, to find his friend was no longer paying attention to his silent pleads.

Great. This was wonderful.

Especially considering the fact that the "DJ" had selected him a "random partner" to accompany him. Yet again, he sighed. Why had he let himself be pushed into _this_? All because of some sentimental thing, he was sure of that. Mummy always said he had a lovely voice. May as well have some kind of enjoyment when he had no one to complain to.

Suddenly, the lights blazed to life. His eyes readjusted, and he heard the crowd murmuring for others to be quiet. That...that was when it happened.

It was like an angel had fallen beside him, their voice pouring into his icy soul. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

_"Placing a smile at the perfect event,_

_Gracing your skin with the side of my hand._

_If I ever leave I could learn to miss you_

_But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume"_

Wait, he knew that voice. That heavenly, perfect voice. But, no it couldn't be. Could it? He looked out into the audience and caught John's eye. His friend mearly gave him a knowing smirk. Then, the song continued on.

_"Let me save you, hold this rope"_

Now, it was his turn. He took a deep breath, before harmonzing with the voice. The voice who he just couldn't bear to turn to see.

_"I may never sleep tonight,_

_As long as you're still burning bright._

_If I could trade mistakes for sheep,_

_Count me away before you sleep._

_I'll stay awake till I trade my mistakes_

_Or they fade away"_

Now, he could hear the seemingly silent breath as the figure looked at him. Apparently, they couldn;t believe what they saw. (_**Well, would anyone? **_he figured) Still, he sang out with John and Mary sitting on, mouthes agape.

_"I feel marooned in this body_

_Deserted, my organs can go on without me._

_You can't fly these wings._

_You can't sleep in this box with me._

_Let me save you, hold this rope"_

Finally, he took a flickering glance in the direction of the voice. His assumptions had been correct, afterall. Her fair fell in waves down her thick sweater, sleeve-ends wrapped around her white knuckles. The only thing out of view now was her face.

_"I may never sleep tonight,_

_As long as you're still burning bright._

_If I could trade mistakes for sheep,_

_Count me away before you sleep._

_I'll stay awake till I trade my mistakes_

_Or they fade away_

_So, let me save you_

_hold this rope and ill pull you in_

_Cause I am an anchor_

_save her or Feel it sinking in_

_Let me save you, hold this rope_

_I am an anchor, sinking her"_

Now, there she was. So close to him, stepping closer and closer. So close. Why...why could he feel his chest tightening? Why was her presence suddenly causing his head to spin? Her silky voice carefully drew out the final lines, as he stood dumb-founded at his own thoughts.

_"I may never sleep tonight,_

_As long as you're still burning bright._

_If I could trade mistakes for sheep,_

_Count me away before you sleep._

_I'll stay awake till I trade my mistakes_

_Or they fade away_"

The song ended, and she took his mic for him, sliding it back in place on its rightful stand. She smiled warmly, voice not wavering for once.

"You have a beautiful voice, Sherlock."

His never-quiet voice seemed caught in his throat as he managed a truthful, "You sound _perfect_, Molly Hooper."


End file.
